The Reason and the Rhyme
by lucia marin
Summary: When Rory and Tristan get thrown into the average project together, the average troubles ensue. But the opposites that just can' t seem to attract are suddenly thrown together when a tragedy occurs,will Rory be there for him? Will Tristan take the chance?
1. in the trenches.

Hey! I'm luce, and I've currently converted to GG fanfics, beforehand having some other weird obsession with digimon (hangs head in shame). but, I can handle a challenge, and when the WB threw tristan, I took the bait and here it is; the marvelous trory. not my story....just the idea,....but chances are, you'll like this! some fresh reading for the trory addicts, things heat up more in the chapters to come, let's just say sexual tension is infuriating, until someone breaks out. how, is the question. I can't wait to write on..... So, with no further ado, here it is. Like it, love it, hate it, but don't curse me......

luce

whenever i'm alone with you 

you make me feel like

i'm me again

whenever i'm alone with you.....

you make, you make, me feel

like i'm clean again...

tori amos

love song

Tristan

Maybe that's why I'm in love with her, in love with the sensuous, curious curve of her lips, her sharp wit, the glare that ices over the huge, deep autumn blue pools in her eyes. Maybe I'm in love with the simplicity and stability of her, her pure, sweet schoolgirl look, the slim legs that awkwardly lounge out from under the modest plaid skirt.........she's fresh like the mist in the morning, quiet and beautiful like the inside of a marvelous cathedral, something that in a million years you could never desecrate.

Leave it to me, Tristan DuGrey to find a way to do that.

I hate the off-color comments that come out of my mouth when I see her, in response to the awkwardness she creates in me; I don't know what to say so I say the wrong thing. Instead of making her miserable, I want to make her tremble. I want to tell her why I call her Mary, not just cause she looks like a virgin.

Because I worship her. She's my Madonna.

I guess if I was a complete idiot I'd be lighting candles for Rory Gilmore. But seeing as I'm Tristan, the self made man and Prep school pimp, I have a level of self control. Anyone would have one after years of girls throwing themselves at you. And I'm not about to let her make me lose it. She can hurt me on the inside, but at least she can't take away my pride. And I think she knows it, and that's why I've never managed to even remotely approach her.

She makes me feel clean.

No one's ever done that for me before. Waking up in the morning on occasion, feeling someone's warm, un-showered body curling around me, turning to see another pair of meaningless eyes and dirty mouth smiling at me, I want to throw up. I hate the thing's I've done, or more correctly, the girls. Maybe I sound like a conceited jackass, but I'm speaking out of honesty, and that's the way it is. Sometimes I feel like I'm too disgusting for someone like Rory. But when she smiles at me genuinely every rare once in a while, I feel new and scared, like I've never felt before, shy and unsure and wanting........

Love is a curse word in my house. I don't believe I've ever even heard it spoken. Sure, I would love to bash your head in, yes honey, I love the way you criticize me, I'd love to come to your party tomorrow. That's the extent to which the word is used in our home. I know you can't blame everything on your parents, but I'd like to blame them for never teaching me how to use that word. Nothing else, just that.

"Mr. DuGrey!" the sharp voice echoed through the classroom.

My head snapped up in a second, and I groaned when I realized what was going on.

"You know the sermon, this is a warning. Daydream at home. Do you have the answer?" continued the teacher sourly.

"Uh...." I stalled, feeling a bit of nausea; Chilton teachers were not to be trifled with, they might report this to my parents......then......

"John Hancock...." came the almost invisible whisper, and my eyes shifted slightly to my left.

They encountered only Rory, who seemed lost in her own world, diligently taking notes. I sighed at the moment of hope that escaped me, when suddenly, I saw her lips imperceptibly move.

"John...Hancock...dumbass......" the whisper slid out, barely audible.

"John Hancock, ma'm" I answered, with my most charming smile.

Skeptically she eyed me, and turned back to the board to write something; relieved, I looked back at her, but she did not even seem to notice anything had happened.

"Thank you. Now, pairings for the projects you will do.........two weeks of research on a topic I assign."

I didn't even pay attention to the names she rattled off the lists; I drifted off after a while, until I heard the last fateful words.

"Tristan DuGrey,.......and.......Paris Geller...."

My neck snapped up so quick that I wondered if I'd sprained it; feverishly, I waited for a miracle.

And it came.

"Oh wait, Paris you're with .....Louise. I guess that leaves Rory with Tristan. Alright, a quick outline due tomorrow. Be prepared."

As the bell rang, I didn't move for a second, considering what was happening and turning it over in my mind. I felt a slow grin invade my face that I couldn't kill.

Unfortunately, the look on her face did.

In a flash, I reverted back to my old self, flashing her the sexiest look I had in the whole collection.

"Well helloooo Mary..... looks like we'll get a chance to do some hands on research...."

"If you still want to have hands when we're through, best keep them busy writing." was her bitter response, and the misery in her eyes was too apparent.

"You know you want me. That's why you gave me the answer....now...can I reward you for your help? A very personal favor maybe?" I smirked at her, and clearly understanding, she stood half angry half blushed.

"Yes you can," she smiled at me, and for a second I was stunned.

"You can drop off the face of the earth." she spat, and marched out the door.

My cocky grin faded slowly, replaced by determination.

You have no right to trample on me, to break me down, I cried out silently, twisting my lips in a brilliant smile that made Louise who caught my eye smile back with a definitive bedroom smile.

"Going my way, soldier?" she whispered as she passed.

"Nope, not even getting on that train," I laughed in her face and walked out.

I'd rather have Rory make me cry than let Louise touch me.

Rory

"Of all of God's creations, the coffee bean is most decidedly the most marvelous," I declared to a slightly smiling Luke as he poured generously. 

"What about man?" he asked gruffly, putting the pot back in place.

Thinking of Tristan, I wanted to let out a wail of anger.

"That was purely Satan's idea. No wonder he got kicked out of heaven."

"That bad, huh." chuckled Luke, as the doorbell rang and I was greeted by a jittery mom.

"Luke, pour me some! Now!"

"Nope. You're quitting, cold turkey."

"Don't trifle with me Luke!" growled my mother, nearly jumping up on the counter. "I haven't had any since morning...I know,..it's horrible but I didn't get coffee break, not even lunch..so busy...pleeeeease.."

"Nope."

Eyes gleaming, she turned to me.

"Ok Rory, here's the plan. I hold him back and you make a dash for the coffee pot. Ready? Set."

"I'm pretty content over here, I don't know if I have the energy," I said lazily, sipping.

Snatching my coffee out of my hands, my mom took a long drag, wiped her mouth, her whole body relaxing as though she'd just shot up.

"Aaahhhh...." 

Luke laughed, and poured her a generous cup.

"So, what's going on?" she asked, settling back on her stool.

"The sky is falling, judgment day is coming, the world's coffee harvests have all perished and I have to work with the Evil one on a two week assignment."

"Hmmm...." she tilted her head to one side, considering my words. "Sounds bad, two weeks? Do you think you can handle it without kissing him?"

"Mom!" I hissed through clenched teeth, turning red. 

"What! You couldn't help doing it and I couldn't help teasing you. Hell, if it wasn't illegal I'd go for it. Sadly though, I can't take him across state lines......but he's so yummy...."

"No he's not. He's evil, disgusting, oversexed, evil...did I mention evil?" I moaned, burying my head in my hands..

"And he's only human, nothing the fabulous Rory Gilmore couldn't handle. Look, you can have him whipped into shape in no time. Don't hesitate to let me know if you need help taming his wild, charming, irresistible-"

"MOM!"

"Alright," she huffed. "Do it by yourself. But don't come complaining."

Waving goodbye to Luke, we drove home as we discussed the day.

But alone in my room later, I stared at the ceiling as I wondered about the whole situation.

My relationship with Dean was alright, I guess.....well, more like floundering.....

Chilton was a cold place. And having one more friend wouldn't hurt. The fact that Tristan didn't seem to be looking for friendship exactly intruded in on my thoughts again, and sat there. So sighing, I took it into consideration. Of course there was always the allure of the unknown, the thought that maybe, just maybe....

Can I deny it?

It was good. Not as in just the mechanics, although that's what makes a kiss. It was the light feeling that beat it's struggling wings against the hollow of my ribcage; the hesitant and unsure softness and urgency of his lips, the slowly rising feeling from my fingertips and up, chilling me and warming me all at once. His mouth slowly sough from mine, not conquered, and for a moment of surprise I felt as though he wasn't taking from me, he was giving. Which made no sense.....considering Tristan......

Sad. That's what his name meant. And sometimes the clear, shimmering blue of those lazy, smirking, insolent eyes turned into a cool, troubled gray that shimmered with unspoken feelings; the moments left as quickly as they came, but nevertheless they'd been there. 

So we kissed. In the midst of everything that was happening around us, in-between and all around the problems we just stood in a silent, peaceful circle and he brought down his face to mine, slowly, then, closer, so close I felt his breath as it passed through his barely open lips in a trembling heave, then, darkness, and his mouth on mine, barely damp, barely open, seeking response........ 

So I kissed him back, one tiny moment when my lips melted into his, searching, ......then....it was over.

The problem?

The fact that I can remember this all too well.

Frustrated, I shut my history book and leaned my head against the wall. I hate fighting with you Tristan.......I hate the fact I kissed you, because now I remember it too clearly, I hate your comments. I hate your look, your style, I hate the way you sleep with people that don't mean anything to you.

Or you did at least. I heard lately, you haven't sought much action. Wonder why.

You make me feel dirty or guilty just looking at you. The tousled hair, the bedroom eyes....the smirk, the handsome, chiseled, clean cut features, the way you make even the ridiculous uniform sexy when you roll up the sleeves and let the pants ride low, tails hanging out , the back of the shirt curving over the light musculature of your-

OK, I have got to be insane. 

I brush my teeth and go to bed, but I don't go to sleep for a long time. 

Tristan

I shake the water droplets out of my hair, climbing out of my indoor pool. I like swimming laps at night, it tires me out and then I go to sleep faster and I don't have to think about her. Too bad dreams don't work that way too. Under the blue lights, the water looks cool and sinister; it's quiet in the large room, the water reflecting strands of light onto the glass roof. Above me, I can see the stars.

I get to spend two weeks almost everyday with her. This is enough to maybe....no. I don't want to do that.

I just want to be her friend.

After months and months of torture, of constant rejection that I masked with contempt and shoved back in her face, I want to be her friend. Then, maybe one day when she trusts me, I can fall asleep close to her on accident.....we can talk until whenever, we'll wrestle and.. do homework together and do all that stuff that friends do. Than maybe......

Not that I've known. I've never had a female friend. Just....a friend.

Those words are a slap in the face in connection to Rory. But now....I see..that's how it's gonna have to be. Because I'm not getting anywhere on my good looks or charm.

Now that's a first.

Maybe we should record it in DuGrey history.

Chuckling to myself, I headed for the showers.


	2. and what's your scarlet letter...

So the fun continues! It's barely started folks....here's the good stuff. the project's started, can they handle the stress? maybe a swim could help them chill out...heh heh. ok, never mind just read. sorry bout the piecey dialogue, but it gets better. tell me what you think of it, I want your opinion, be it crud or awesome. read away....

luce

"So....what do we know about Puritans? Witches burning? Hats with buckles?" Rory sighed, ruffling the stack of papers in front of us.

"The Scarlet Letter....." grinned Tristan. Of course.

"How typical....you'd have to bring up the raunchiest thing you found related to the subject. For god's sake Tristan, I wonder how you survived at Chilton..."

Leaning back, the boy with the messy, golden hair and the sparkling blue eyes smiled insolently.

"Let's just say that not only students in this school want my body."

"Oh, I see, you slept with Mr. Medina?"

Narrowing his eyes, the boy considered the quick comeback.

"No, but does your mom?"

Rory's glare could have frozen the Sahara.

"Mr. DuGrey, not only did you insult my intelligence but you insulted my mother. I work for everything I get, unlike you whose father buys off everything.......and no she doesn't."

"Sorry," he replied, regretful he'd crossed the line.

"Not as sorry as you'll be when I'm through with you." muttered a seething Rory.

"Oh, I love it when they want it rough," murmured Tristan, setting her face ablaze.

"Tristan!" yelled the frustrated girl. "Can we have two sentences in a row without a sexual comment interjected between?"

"Sure. What about three? Is that better?"

"Hopeless," she sighed, then, turned to her books.

"That pretty much describes our cause. You want to do the Scarlet Letter as our main fiction piece? We could playact....I'll be Dimmesdale and you be Hester and we can do it so I can pin a big A to your back."

"Yesss! Does the play come complete with you getting me knocked up and having a devil baby?" answered Rory dryly.

"We don't exactly have to follow the script...."

"Good, then you get to wear the big red A. God knows you deserve it. Or an S for sex fiend."

" It's already tattooed on my butt." replied a grinning Tristan.

"Oh I though that was a 666."

" That's on the other cheek."

Rory wrinkled her nose in disgust, sighed, and fell back on the couch arms spread out while staring at the ceiling.

" This is suffocating me already!" she wailed, throwing up papers like confetti.

"It's ok, I can do mouth to mouth." said Tristan smoothly, dropping next to her to join her in the ceiling watching.

"And I can do fist to mouth," replied Rory with a sweet malice.

"Bring it." was his only response.

Two hours later, 545 sexual innuendoes and 6 mugs of coffee later they had managed to finish the outline.

Satisfied, Rory leaned back on the couch and gave the paper a once over.

"Main Literature piece, Scarlet Letter. Setting, Boston Massachusetts. People, puritans. Special Events, Witch burning, On location trip, Salem, with Powerpoint presentation, historical research at Boston and Salem Archives, pictures, and finally, the written conclusion report."

"Sounds good to me. With all the stuff you've go planned, you'll be seeing me everyday after school."

"Unfortunately, and hopefully never after that."

"Ouch, Rory, after two hours of battle you think you'd have mellowed."

"It's the coffee." smiled Rory.

"Either that or I really annoy you."

"Yeah, you're right. Why lie to spare your feelings?"

"Why tell me the answer today in class to spare me humiliation?" answered Tristan softly, his cocky attitude suddenly gone.

A short silence ensued between the two, as they sat on the couch separated by papers and books; golden lamplight pooled the shadows on her innocent face and his handsome features. A moment of awkwardness arose as they both undoubtedly remembered that uncertain, beautiful kiss so deeply buried away....

Shrugging, Rory shattered the quiet spell of the moment as she bounced up.

"I felt sorry for your pathetic ass. You were obviously too tired from the previous night's exertion with your current conquest to focus on the classwork...."

She felt a slight shiver when she heard his quiet answer as she disappeared into the kitchen.

"I wish you wouldn't say things like that sometimes...."

Hesitating , she stuck her head back in the living room."

"Why, she broke up with you and shattered your heart?"

His head turned quickly, his intense look unnerving.

"I haven't talked to anyone really since May." he answered softly, and then went back to diligently answering history problems.

Rory stood in the kitchen doorway, for once with nothing to say.

The days continued; hours of frustrating research, frustrating conversation, sharp repartee and sly insults accompanied by sexual comments aimed from every imaginable angle that were slammed back into Tristan's face. They fought, they argued, they bitched, the wrote notes and copied papers and found phone numbers ; slowly but surely, the project began taking shape. Every idea was covered, every topic explored. But where the research ended, the fighting did not.

"You live too damn far away," grumbled Rory as they stepped into his mansion.

Suddenly speechless, Rory gazed around at the marvelous decor and expensive furnishings; Tristan watched her amusedly as she tried to assume an indifferent air.

"Do you ever get lost in here?" she asked timidly as they walked through a series of hallways.

"Sometimes," he replied somberly. "In here," he said, and they walked into a huge bedroom.

Papers and parts of the project lay scattered on the floor along with a few clothes, a sports bag, and various other things that the blond boy kicked to the side clearing a huge space in the middle. 

Uncomfortable, Rory glanced around.

"Couldn't we work in the living room?"

Tristan grinned.

"What, and pass up the chance to tell everyone Rory Gilmore was in my bedroom for two hours?"

The look the girl shot him was all pins and needles. Reluctantly, he gathered everything and they went downstairs. 

After one hour of frustrating work, only made more difficult by their constant bickering, the argument was heating up.

"And how the hell are we supposed to get on location! We can't drive to freakin' Salem!"

"And why the hell not?"

"It's too damn far!" screamed Rory, throwing a book down.

"And? Two hours in a car more than you can handle? Do you want an A or not? This is your project too!" yelled back Tristan, frustrated, running his hands through his hair.

The room was thick with tension; the boy let his hand drop from his hair, and Rory stared at him for a second.

The unmistakable current ran through her as she regarded his features; the bedhead and the defiant eyes, the warm mouth twisted in that sneer, his fingers tapping on the table. Suddenly, nervousness hit her.

"I've had enough of you!" she spat, stomping out.

"Fine! Walk out! But you know you have no idea where you are in my house!"

"Oh right, where's the maps with the dot that say you are here? Shouldn't you have one by every door? I'm sure you could afford them!" he heard her sarcastic yell.

Her footsteps stopped after half a minute; Tristan listened to the silence in amusement.

Following her, he found her frustratedly coming out of one room and dissapearing into the pool room.

"Dammit," he heard her mutter as he entered the pool room.

"Willing to admit you're lost and chill out?" smirked Tristan, confident and assured.

"I don't need to chill out." she growled, but he just got nearer.

"I think you do," grinned Tristan and kept advancing. 

"Tristan......"she sighed. "Why do we fight like a cat and a dog locked in one pet carrier for seven hours on an international flight?"

The boy just smirked, and got even closer. Taking her chin in his hand, he approached her, and in a trademark bedroom tone, whispered out the inevitable answer.

"Sexual tension, don't you think?"

Nervous, she stepped back.

Much to her misfortune, she failed to notice the edge of the pool behind her.

Grabbing on to his hand wildly as she flew through the air, she managed to bring him in with her; the next few seconds were a confused mass of swirling bubbles and blue pool water. They fought under the water, neither one leaving a moment unnoticed; a moment where his arms wrapped around her tightly as he held her down, and she wrapped her legs around him. Deep underneath the cool blue depths, there was no sound, no sight, just touch, and the touch of his fingers as they grazed the bare skin of her stomach where her shirt floated up sent a current through both of them.

Bursting to the surface, gasping, Rory smacked the unexpecting Tristan.

"Enjoy your swim?"

"I have no other clothes, you idiot! Do you think this is funny?" was her angry response as she splashed water over his face.

A water fight ensued as the two battled in the pool, and finally burst to the surface again.

Closer than expected or measured.

Their faces so close he could feel her warm breath brush across his cheek; mesmerized, she studied the water droplets on his eyelashes, watching them trail down to his mouth.

Suddenly, they both started laughing.

"I hate you," said Rory ruefully looking down at her dripping clothes.

"Sounds familiar and good," replied the blond boy. "Want me to put your clothes in the dryer?"

"That'd be nice," she said truthfully. 

They made their way through the maze to his room; shivering, she took in the surroundings with interest.

"Y-you like R-r-red Hot Chili P-peppers too?" she asked through chattering teeth.

"I know I'm a god but I'm also human. Try to understand." he grinned in reply.

"And we're both 49'rs f-fans!" she smiled, seeing the poster.

"As well as 69'ers...."

"Speak for yourself," she said sharply in his direction. Mentally, he berated himself. He'd just been making some progress.

"Sorry. Here's some clothes to wear till yours dry out."

"Hope they're not bits and pieces of what other girls forgot here" commented Rory dryly.

"No such luck. But there's some clean, warm sweats and one of my wifebeaters......."

"Can do." she chattered and disappeared into the bathroom.

Chuckling to himself, he watched the frozen girl slam the door shut, and wished he could be the one to warm her. Sighing, he flopped down on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He was so deep in though he never heard the footsteps approaching.

A slender form landed next to him on the bed, her hair splaying out over the down bedspread. Resisting the urge to make a lewd comment, he simply smiled at her and got a much better response.

"Funny, I would've thought you'd have said something raunchy about me being on your bed by now," she replied after a few minutes of ceiling gazing.

"Funny, I still can't believe it's true," he said back truthfully, taking her off guard.

In the room, the deepening shadows of twilight brushed over the two figures that lay there in silence. He allowed his eyes to discreetly travel the length of her, his mouth suddenly dry; it was the way that the thin, white tank clung to her figure, gently sloping in the concave of her stomach........the way the baggy sweats rode low, clinging to the rounded curve of her backside......her tiny toes peeking out from the bottom of the pants........

Tristan DuGrey recognized desire when he felt it. But there was something more to this, ......because, all of a sudden he felt scared again, new to everything; she made him feel fresh as though he'd never touched another girl before. But at the same time, he wanted nothing more than to curve his arms around her slender figure and feel all her warmth seep into him. The clean, fresh shower scent tantalized him, and her fingers found their way into his own.

"You're so cold," were the words out of her mouth, filled with a little wonder, as though she'd never been cold before.

Rory hadn't missed the opportunity to sneak a look either. She realized the complications......the fact, that should she touch him, she might not want to stop. Maybe it was the lean, lightly muscled body, his framework taut like any athlete's; maybe it was the vulnerable look on his handsome face, making him look like just a boy......the soft, downy, ever-tousled blond hair....

She slipped her fingers into his for a second, feeling the pain in his eyes; then, it was gone again.

"Yeah, I should take a shower and warm up and then we should probably go back to studying."

Rory nodded, and locked away the little moment, buried it.

"Just not now....." he said quietly, so low she barely caught it.

"I don't hate you." her voice rang out softly but clearly.

The boy's head perked up suddenly, watching her curiously.

"I lied that day. I didn't know better. I don't hate you. And I...."

"don't love him?" Tristan finished the sentence, careful.

Rory nodded ruefully, turning on her side to face him.

"Forgive?" she asked simply, and he fought the urge to touch her face.

"Forgiven," he answered, and the two just lay in the semi-dark and smiled.

"You know," continued Rory, "You're not half bad when you're not being yourself...."

The words hurt him, but the outside showed no effect; he managed to smile the trademark grin.

"Is that your way of saying I'm desperately in love with you and I want you right now?" he smirked.

She giggled, and jumped off the bed.

"That's more like you. Let's go finish this."

{********************}

Alright! next week coming up, trip to Salem, but they might not make it home that day.....small space, too much tension, all that fun stuff....could potentially turn out good or disastrous, opinions and critique welcome. Keep reading!


	3. who's a mary, and other erased history.

here it is folks..the pleasantly anticipated next part. for all of ya'll who want this to hurry up and get on the way, remember! that's the buildup. stick around for the crash; maybe i'll just have them suddenly commit terrible violation of each other out of the blue....sike, never. hey, drop that nasty thought back in the gutter where it came from.

oh is it just me or is anyone else slightly thrilled by the fact that the next episode of GG runs in the TRORY DIRECTION!!! sorry, i'm all calm now. don't miss it.

luce

RORY'S POV

For once, I dared to believe I was human.

I wonder if I deceived myself.

But as he lay there asleep on the couch, the golden lamplight melting over his face as he peacefully breathed in and out with that guarded vitality he always held, he looked human. I watched him quietly, not wanting to wake him up; it was almost a miracle to witness the change that passed over his features.

They melted into a small, defenseless little boy look; still heartbreakingly handsome, yet vulnerable.....the corners of his mouth drooped as though he were pouting in his sleep. He looked so lost, so sad, so completely alone that all of a sudden I had the motherly urge to wrap him in a huge hug and tell him everything would be alright. Considering how awkward it would be if he woke up, I put away that thought and spent another ten minutes trying to find a clock.

It was ten, and tomorrow was a school day.

Hurriedly running to the laundry room, I got my clothes out of the dryer, and climbed the steps to his room to get the shoes I'd forgotten there.

I started changing as quick as I could, when I felt the sudden presence of someone.

Bewildered, he stood in the doorway where he'd just stepped, watching me with a dumbfounded look; his hair was a mess, and his brilliant blue eyes were hazy with sleep, and for a split second he seemed confused.

I felt his gaze wash over me like the chill water of some blue mountain lake; a slight smile played on his features as the volcanic blush rose to my cheeks.

Suddenly, as though realizing what was happening, he turned around abruptly. Quickly, I put on the remainder of my clothes, and gluing my eyes to the floor I nervously folded the loaners.

"You can turn around," I said, voice probably unsteady.

He turned slowly, avoiding my eyes too; but there was a look about his face that sent a shiver through me, the look of a person being tortured, yet.....blissful.....

"I'm sorry," he breathed out suddenly. "I didn't know you were in here-"

"It's alright," I interrupted. "I should probably be going home."

"Right, right," he muttered, and searched on his dresser for the keys. There was an immense current running through the room, and I felt as though if I were to accidentally touch him I'd be electrocuted; scared at the sudden tenseness a moment had caused, I wondered if I were going insane. Play it off Rory, make it seem normal, don't make this seem worse than it is.........

"I think we made some progress today," I said as warmly as I could, and smiled at him. Pleasantly surprised, he nodded. 

"What about the Boston issue?"

"Lemme figure out what I can do tonight," I told him, and feverishly banished it from my mind.

We drove home in a comfortable half silence half banter, and when I stepped out, I leaned my face in the window to say bye.

"Gnight Mary, when you dream about me, take it as a sign."

"Don't worry, I won't. And may I say that you look more Mary than me when you're sleeping?" I replied sweetly, giggling at the shock on his face.

"I was sleeping?" he asked in disbelief, insecurity suddenly shadowing his confident countenance.

"Like a little angel," I crooned, thinking about how it was more true then I'd admit.

Suddenly smirking again, he eyed me.

"Was I drooling? Talking? Snoring? Fantasizing?"

I suddenly had the desire to laugh.

"I don't know about that last one, but the first, no. Well, except for the drooling part. I was about to put a bucket under your face."

"Whatever," he rolled your eyes. "The only drooling done in my house is done by my mom when she watches the pool boy cleaning," he said, and the harshness of it shadowed the humor.

"Good night Tristan," I smiled, and walked away.

Standing on the front porch, I watched the silver car race away, deftly turning the corner and disappearing into the night like a pale ghost.

"Kind of late, aren't we?" lilted the voice behind me.

"Oh, mom, I'm so sorry....lost track of time..then, we typed and I fell in the pool, and-"

"Whatever. You know I trust you. Whether I trust you with him is the question....I wouldn't trust me with him.....but the falling in the pool part sounds interesting. Say, you'd best reform him first. If you marry him, I refuse to go to all your snobby society get together things."

"Mooom," I whined. "I'm not marrying anybody, especially the Evil one. Me and Dean will get married and have a nice house and 3 kids one day......"

"And who'll Tristan be then?" she said softly, in that knowing voice of hers.

"The pool boy," I replied without even thinking, and the look on her face said it all.

"Exactly," she grinned, and went inside, leaving me much confused and much unsatisfied with myself.

"C'mon in Mini me," she yelled, and her voice brought warmth to my chilled realizations.

We shared a silent cup of coffee over a lot of unspokens, when she finally leaned over.

"How bout you tell me what's really going on, Rory?"

The world felt wide and lonely and confusing, and suddenly I wanted a hug. From the safe confines of her sympathetic and frustratingly analytical arms, I let it all pour out.

"Things just feel weird,....like when he sleeps, he looks un-evil, and when I fell in the pool, he dragged me to the bottom, and he's smart, but, he's evil, and he keeps hitting on me! but it's funny, and it's frustrating, and we fight all the time, I don't know why! he provokes me so bad! we're always having some kind of argument, but not the bad kind. He looks so innocent when he's sleeping......" I blabbered out nonsensically, but she seemed to understand.

Chuckling, she stroked my hair.

"Sexual tension," she said in a mock-scientific tone, and we giggled together.

"Whatever," I grinned, and leaned back.

Sighing, she regarded me with a troubled but amused countenance.

"Rory Gilmore, you are falling for that boy. I'm willing to bet my best pair of pumps on it. You can deny it until judgment day comes, but that won't make it any less true. The only thing I advise you to keep in mind is that first impressions can be deceiving, and don't do anything stupid. He's a boy, give him a push in the wrong direction and he'll take you down like an avalanche. What's with the trip to Boston?"

"I don't know," I said frustrated. "What should I do?"

"Take a trip down there for the day. Leave really early and come back late, get all your pictures and papers and statues and witches and Scarlet Letters and bring 'em back. Sound like a plan?"

"I guess....." 

Looking at the bottom of our empty mugs, we checked the time.

"Whoa, are you way past your bedtime. Into bed with you miss Gilmore," chided my mom, shooing me off to bed. 

Turning towards my room, I started shuffling down the hall.

"Mom?" I asked, and she turned around as though she was expecting me to say something.

"Yes?"

"I'm not falling for him. It's just some dumb little thing. Me and Dean won't have a pool boy in our mansion. We might not even have a pool, maybe we'll have a little ski resort though....."

She smiled, and waved me away. But I didn't miss what she muttered under her breath towards my retreating back.

"Sure you won't," said the first Lorelai Gilmore, and turned out the living room lights.

TRISTAN'S POV

She looked like a cross between a grumpy little kid and a sleepy fairy when I picked her up at 6 in the morning the next day; she curled up in the front seat of my Porsche, and her lips fell downwards in a pout.

"Times like these I wish you had a Navigator or something with a bed in the back."

"Sound the trumpets, alert the Franklin, notify the presses, Rory Gilmore just said she wishes my car had a bed in the back. Could this possibly mean....??"

Scowling at me, she snuggled up further into the seat.

"It means I'd love to sleep all the way there just so I don't have to put up with you."

"In that case," I replied dryly, "Maybe I should go home and get the Cadillac Escalade."

"Are you serious?" she yawned. Then, "Don't bother."

After a while, she fell into a light sleep, and I drove and watched her at the same time, almost crashing more than once. She was gorgeous when she slept, a moody princess, an impish fairy; her eyelashes swept her cheeks like butterfly wings, fluttering disturbed on occasion. She tossed and turned in the small space allowed her, and I smiled to myself. Coming to a stoplight, when I looked over, suddenly I had the desire to kiss her..........

Slowly, I leaned over, carefully watching her; I was so close, so...close..

The butterfly wings suddenly flew wide open; she watched me silently breathless for a second. Inches away from each other, we studied...analyzed, tried to breathe.......

"Hey, you are awake. I was about to...." I broke out awkwardly and abruptly leaned back, when she looked at me curiously, and frightened; her emotion indiscernible, I fought for a foothold.

"Kiss me?" she ended simply, and looked at me accusingly.

Sighing, I leaned my head back on the rest, staring at the ceiling.

"Yeah, maybe," I admitted, defeated and cautious, waiting for the bitter comment sure to come.

But what she said next froze my blood in my veins.

"Why didn't you?"

The light suddenly turned green; the tires screeched under us, and everything exploded. Calmly, I went back down to speed limit and stared straight and hard at the road. I had no answer, there was nothing I could say; anger and confusion and want crowded inside my head at once, and right when I was about to open my mouth....

"That was a good nap," she smiled, and stretched like a kitten. Flipping through my CD's, she popped in some blues and jazz singer. "Are we there yet?"

Letting the moment slide past me in defeat, I turned and smiled at her.

"30 minutes give or take. Depends on how many accidents you cause by turning heads, Mary."

Rolling her eyes, she giggled.

"Depending on how many accidents you get into by staring at blondes on the sidewalks."

"You caught me. So? Did you think it was possible to make shorts that short?"

"No," she admitted laughing. "But then, I wasn't really looking."

"Neither was I. I was examining the mailbox behind her. It was really......creative....boxy..."

"Whatever. And I'm Paris' best friend. What other outrageous lies do we have?"

"Louise is a virgin." I replied, amused.

"I hate coffee."

"We love Chilton. It's so much fun."

"I'm dyslexic, I don't read." she grinned.

"I actually know who PJ Harvey is." I responded.

"My name is Mary" she shot daggers at me.

"I'm never-been-kissed" I said.

She snorted in amusement. "More like never been dismissed."

"You forget Summer."

"Ah, the infamous bimbo who ditched you at Madeleine's party. Still miss her?"

A sharp stab of pain suddenly slid through me and dissapeared.

"Sure, whatever,......." I muttered, clenching the wheel.

"What's wrong?" she asked quickly, perceptive yet blind.

Sighing, I decided to just clear it up for once and for all.

"Rory, do you remember the night when we kissed on the piano bench?" I dropped the question bluntly, filling the car with a lead silence. Looking across at her, I saw the slight pallor in her face, then, the heat barely rising.

"Yes," she said best she could, looking out the window, starting to nervously gnaw on her nails.

"If I missed Summer, do you think I'd kiss you right after breaking up with her?"

She said nothing, just stared out the window, and I watched the road as we pulled up to another stoplight.

Everything made sense and didn't at the same time; I guessed by now she'd realized when I told her that I was still not over somebody else, that I hadn't meant Summer, that I'd probably meant her. I didn't want it to come out like this, I wanted it different........

Turning to me, suddenly she fixated her eyes on me earnestly.

"Tristan, whatever happened back then, it was back then. The summer's passed, it's a new year, we're trying to be friends, and Paris tolerates me, hell, even maybe kinda likes me. Let's just forget everything, alright? Start fresh...."

"Does fresh include acting like nothing ever happened?"

Frustrated, she looked at me pleadingly.

"Let's pretend it didn't. Let's pretend I'd never said I hate you, never kissed you, never played those mean games that we did and you never were the jerk you were. Let's pretend you didn't lie and say I was going to PJ Harvey with you, thus making Paris hate me. Let's pretend that you and me met this year, and here we are."

Silent, we sat there as the car speeded towards it's destination. Angrily, I shifted gears, making the motor growl.

"Let's pretend you didn't ask me why I didn't just kiss you."

"Good, let's pretend," she said, burying her head in her hands.

Pulling up to the huge library, suddenly I felt an overwhelming sadness and a slight sympathy for the girl torturing herself on the seat next to me. We were both lost...fools...helpless.....But, perhaps there was hope. Perhaps, this would yet turn out for the best.

"C'mon Mary, let's do some history," I said kindly, and stepped out to open her door.

Cheeks slightly flushed, she got out, and stood before me; managing a tentative smile, suddenly, she flung her arms around me in an apologetic hug.

"I'm sorry...." she murmured, her voice muffled in my shoulder. Stunned, I slowly wrapped my arms around her, and we shared a warm, innocent embrace that still managed to send slight shivers through me.

"I'm sorry too," I managed to reply, my face buried in her hair. Letting go, we backed away, and her eyes shone much brighter.

"C'mon Tristan, let's burn some witches," she grinned, and started up the cold, long timeworn steps.

I followed her, feeling happy for the first time in forever. 


	4. perhaps I never knew.

perhaps it was the constant nagging and bitching.

perhaps it was the glow of the fluorescent light in her eyes when she was already tired.

perhaps it was her own confusion and carelessness that led her to drift off tiredly as they worked that Tuesday, turning inwards to herself. it was all too hard, to difficult to contemplate. Tristan seemed to stop at nothing, and she didn't understand why; anyone else would have known, but Rory being Rory, she decided to ignore all options and put it on hold until she spilled it to the coffee and to her mother.

As Tristan sped away from the house that night, Rory stumbled into the living room, haggard.

"Hey," greeted Lorelai cheerily, and turned concerned as she saw her daughter's face. "Is this the night of the living zombies? Cause you look like you're about to bite someone's head off. Don't even try it, I'm very stringy..you wouldn't like me at all....."

"Whatever," mumbled Rory wearily, and headed for the coffee pot.

"Well, that's no way to respond to a psychotically stalker mom who wants to know all the details. Work progressing?"

"No."

"Is he behaving?"

"No."

"Is this the Practice?"

"No."

"Does that mean you can stop the 'unwilling witness under cross questioning' act?"

"No."

Sighing, Lorelai poured her daughter another cup. Sympathetically, she led her to the couch and put her arm around Rory, letting the poor defeated darling slump onto her shoulder.

"C'mon smart girl, it can't be all bad. At least you get to look at him. He's very nice to look at. And you get to use your verbal skills a lot...."

"I don't know, my vocabulary trend towards him usually always seems to end up somewhere between 'cocky jerk' and 'arrogant asshole'."

"Well, you could always waste some time with me thinking of more elaborate intelligent insults. Has that school taught you nothing?"

"Hmmm, you're right," managed Rory with a small smile. "Nefarious malefactor."

"Good job, I have no idea what you just said," deadpanned Lorelai.

"That's the idea," grinned Rory for the first time that evening. "Maybe I'll survive. But if he doesn't get his act together soon I might have to rip off a few of his fingernails."

"Why limit yourself? Go for limbs."

"I want to torture him, not kill him. What's the satisfaction in that? Tristan is killing me! When he's not making overly flirtatious and disgusting comments he stares at me funny and he takes special pleasure in insulting me...and calling me Mary.....and teasing me.."

"And pulling your pigtails and ripping off your Barbie's heads and pushing you off the swings and always throwing the dodgeball at you?" said Lorelai.

"Something like that," muttered Rory.

Amused, Lorelai went to refill her mug.

"If I didn't know better I'd say he liked you." she told her daughter, who stared at her with an incredulous expression.

"Tristan will never be capable of liking someone truly. He's probably slept with so many people that if you highlighted their names in the Hartford phonebook it'd be like another whole Yellow Pages." she sighed, and Lorelai laughed.

"Woe to the virgin daughters of Hartford, a DuGrey, Tristan has been reported on the loose...."

"See that's why we live in Stars Hollow," said Rory. "To be safe from predators. It's like little red riding hood inviting the big bad wolf into her house. I will be so glad when this is over."

"Really?" asked Lorelai, a tiny amused look on her face.

"What do you mean?" asked Rory suspiciously. 

"Hmm.....never mind. I think you know better than me." said Lorelai mysteriously, and raised an eyebrow.

"Goodnight," answered Rory promptly and vaulted up the stairs.

"20 dollars says you know what I mean, little red riding hood." she said to her coffee, and laughed to herself.

Dumping her backpack on the grass, Rory Gilmore plopped down thankfully in her hiding spot by the tree. Chilton had not been kind to her that day. Although Paris had started gradually thawing, and the rest of the students were becoming accustomed to her face, it was small consolation. The world passed by her everyday in that school, and sometimes she wished she weren't so....sidelined.

She hadn't seen Tristan that day, and the fact seemed to intrude on her peace. Frustrated at the tiny idea that probed her like a needle, she pushed it aside. Who cared where he was? Certainly not her. And yet, she found herself going out of her way hoping to get a glance of him in one of their classes....but, to no avail.

That afternoon, when the phone didn't ring, she felt that unsettling feeling again.

She waited.

5 o'clock came and went, the evening settling into the air outside. Distracted by a load of homework, she suddenly realized it was 6. Still no phone.

Strange, she thought. We were supposed to work on it tonight..

7 o'clock.

The phone was silent, and Rory was bursting. Cautiously, she picked up the handset glaring at it as though it were guilty. With great difficulty, she pressed the numbers written down on a paper, and waited nervously for someone to pick up.

5 rings.....maybe she should hang up....

"Hello, DuGrey residence." spoke a cold voice.

"Hi, can I ....can I speak to, Tristan please? This is Rory and-"

"I'm sorry he's not available." the voice severely cut her off.

"Do you know where he is?" asked Rory carefully.

"Hartford Hospital, with his grandfather. Will that be all?" the voice answered rudely.

"Yes, thank-" said Rory, before hearing the click.

Hanging up the phone, she looked at it dazed.

What had happened to his grandfather?

Something so huge that he would have forgotten to call Rory,...and in her own mind, even Rory knew there was a problem. And suddenly, she knew what she had to do.

Grabbing the keys to the Jeep and writing a note, she raced out into the driveway. Climbing in, she pulled out and sped away, getting on the interstate.

Someone needed her.

Across town, Janlen DuGray was dying.

The old man took ragged breath after ragged breath, struggling to hold on to what life was left. His chances of making it were pretty slim, they all knew

But only one didn't believe.

Tristan stepped out into the quiet corridor for a second, heading for the water cooler. Drinking a cup, he leaned against the cool tile wall, his eyes closed, trying to sort out the turmoil in his head. His mom had gone to eat dinner, his dad was away on a business trip and still waiting to catch a flight down. 

"It'll only be two seconds, I'll be back," his mother had told him. It' had been half an hour. Not that it mattered, she wasn't his daughter. The only thing Monica DuGrey was thinking about was inheritance. He'd spent the last half hour just watching the old man. And his heart was breaking. Sure, maybe Tristan had been an unfortunate by-product of a loveless life and a cold school that spit out already psychiatrically dependent graduates. But in Tristan DuGrey's life there had been one place that he could find one bit of solace, one pair of welcoming arms. And that place was empty now, the welcoming arms resting listlessly on the metal bed. A tear threatened to escape, and he valiantly held it back. The smell of his grandfather's leather chair, the expensive and old smell of the books and the varnish in his study suddenly flooded him. Memories of climbing up into the man's arms and looking at the business ledgers and letters flooding the desk, joking about his father and stealing candy from the little dish Janlen kept on the sideboard.....he knew his grandfather had grown less and less proud of him as time wore on and the effects of the coldness set in. But that did not deter the old man from still reaching out the boy with the frozen heart, and thawing it time to time. Crushing the cup in his hand, Tristan let it drop to the floor and leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed, to hold back the tears forming.

It was this way that she found him, and she just stood at the end of the hallway watching him for a second.

Still in his Chilton school shirt, the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons undone, the tie loosened the boy leaned against the wall. The blue hospital light outlined the strong, clean cut jaw and the chiseled features that gleamed luridly in the antiseptic shadows; his hair was tousled and his lips slightly trembling. She watched him squeeze his eyes shut trying not to think ...not to remember......

Lightly she stepped up to him, and touched his arm.

Startled, his eyes flew open wide with shock as he saw her standing there. Nervous, suddenly he backed away along the wall.

"Rory? What are you doing here?"

The girl smiled shakily, trying to show how affected she was by the picture she'd just seen.

"Wow, you do know my name," she said dryly, and her voice shook a little, but he managed a small smile.

"I knew you'd be here. I just wanted to see how you were." she said simply, and he took a few seconds to register it. He just took her in, and thought for a while.

"Why do you care?" his voice came sadly from the shadows, even though he tried to mask it.

"I don't know..." was Rory's honest answer, but to them, it held a promise.

Slowly, she wrapped her arms around him and he pulled her close, and they hugged tightly in the hospital corridor. He held her tighter, as though afraid she might slip away, and she comforted him best she knew how, whispering little reassurances in his ear. The two of them just held on, his hands splayed on her back, his body trembling from pain and exhaustion and sadness against her soft and comforting one. Pulling back finally, she took in his face, and said only three words.

"You should cry."

The words swept through him strangely, and almost made him shudder.

What had been the last time he cried?

He couldn't remember.

Be a man, snapped his father. Don't be a bitch. Hold your tears back.

Cry.

The word seemed almost ludicrous to him.

But as his eyes slipped towards the room where the quiet beeping of the heart monitor came through the open door, and as she embraced him again, holding him tightly to her, he felt a deep, racking sob shudder inside him and cling its way up to the surface.

No terrible crying ensued, no wrenching sobs, to avalanche. Instead, he felt a tear flow down his cheek as he shuddered in her embrace. Then another, and another and before he knew it, they rolled down his cheeks and into her hair, down his face in floods; more and more tears just pouring out, saved for years and years on end. Inside him, the cold was slowly draining away, warmed by the hot tears dampening her hair, her shoulder, and his fingers just spread in arcs along her back. 

After a good while, he stood back and looked at her quietly, solemnly, asking her with his eyes to promise: promise not to tell.

She reassured him with a wistful glance, wondering what was the last time he cried.

Squaring his shoulders and taking a deep ragged breath, Tristan looked up and wiped his face.

"Wanna meet Janlen DuGrey, my grandfather?" he asked Rory quietly.

She nodded, and taking her hand, they went into the room together.

An hour later, Rory stumbled into the hallway and called her mom from her cell phone.

"Rory?" was the concerned answer on the other line.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm still at the hospital."

"Are you alright?" said the worried voice on the line.

"No, but I will be," replied Rory softly. "I think I'll stay here with him tonight. He's by himself with his grandfather and I don't want him to watch Janlen alone. If he dies, he might drive off to God knows where and do God knows what."

On the other receiver, Lorelai sighed.

"Since when did you start caring?" she asked, knowing the answer.

"It doesn't matter," replied Rory simply. "Bye, mom. I'll call you again in a few hours."

"Bye Rory," replied her mom, and slowly hung up.

It was 3 o'clock in the morning, and Janlen DuGrey was still breathing.

The nurse looked in and raised her eyebrows in amazement. Paging the nurses desk, she asked them to put the doctor on the line to come down to room 317 on the fifth floor.

At 4 o'clock the doctor declared it a miracle and made sure the patient was stabilized. 

Rory and Tristan wearily smiled at each other, and continued to keep watch. They spent the hours talking, Tristan telling her about the times he'd go to his grandfather's office just to see him, the stories the old man told about the war, about Kennedy, about Vietnam and about the business; stories about Tristan's father. Rory smiled at the picture of the little boy Tristan sitting on the huge mahogany desk and curiously digging through Janlen's files, the two of them laughing together. Tristan talked, and talked, and Rory listened and understood.

5 o'clock, the two had falled into a fitful sleep in the chairs, Tristan's head lolling on Rory's shoulder as hers rested against the wall, his hand tightly grasping hers. 

6'o clock and the old man was breathing steadily, a little color in his face.

Rory and Tristan were shooed out at 6:30, and told to come back in 4 hours; Janlen was being taken down into special surgery. The two exited the building, dazed, confused, and dying of tiredness. Finally managing to find where they had parked, they looked at the situation.

"I don't think I can drive," said Rory ruefully, looking at her Jeep. "I'm afraid I'll fall asleep at the wheel."

"Same here...." yawned Tristan.

It was still dark outside, and the streetlights shone through the still purple morning mist.

"How bout we crash at my place and you tell your mom to come get the Jeep. That way you can keep me awake on the way home......." said Tristan, not really thinking about what he was saying.

"Sure," said Rory, too tired to realize what she was agreeing to.

Leaving a message for Lorelai, Rory climbed into Tristan's Porsche. Driving through the empty streets and then roads, they finally pulled up in front of a huge stone house with impeccably manicured lawns. Crawling out, they wearily staggered towards the front door.

The first rays of sun were feebly starting to breath through the lavender dawn; entering the house, Tristan looked at the living room.

"Whatever," he muttered, and headed for the den. He crashed on the couch, and Rory fell next to him.

"Hey look it reclines," he said, pressing a lever, and the two found themselves stretched out in a second.

Rory let out a tired giggle, rolled to her side and fell asleep almost instantly.

Two minutes later, Tristan followed.

The clock chimed 12 when she opened her eyes. Frozen still, she carefully studied the unfamiliar sight......of Tristan's neck and shoulders right next to her.

Stifling the urge to jump up and scream, she took a deep breath and let it all sink in. Oh yeah........ her brain said, and suddenly, she realized where she was.

In a strangely close....strangely comfortable situation.......

Breathless, she realized that they were somehow closely sleeping together. Their foreheads had been touching, his body dangerously close to engulfing hers in it's innocent craving for warmth and protection, his innocent features calm in his sleep. His hair stuck up all over the place, and she couldn't help one tiny smile that came to her face at the sight of the perpetual mess. A thick fringe of eyelashes rested above his sculpted cheekbones, and his mouth murmured silent phrases in his sleep. The early afternoon sunshine poured calmly through the massive windows, and bathed them in it's strange flood. It was odd waking up at midday, not to mention next to him....

Chilton!

The word sprang into her mind, and she groaned, closing her eyes. The workload when they got back would be immense. Janlen. Her eyes sprang back open.

Oh, God, let him be alright. Just for Tristan. Let him be alright.

The phone rang shrilly.

The house never seemed so immense, so lonely as when that single sound jangled and echoed through it's empty rooms. Frightened, Rory looked at it.

It's the hospital. He's dead. Or maybe he's fine. 

Looking back at Tristan, surprised, she suddenly saw his eyes were open. He was watching her with a soft expression that she could not place, and his eyes were clear and full of feeling.

"Answer it," he told her quietly, and it was so that Rory Gilmore picked up the receiver, took a deep breath, and answered.

"Hello?" 


End file.
